


The Weight of Living

by non_tiembo_mala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Schmoop, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4622040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tender little PWP between the boys. It's late, it's post-hunt, and Sam takes care of his big brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of Living

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in tiny chunks by flashlight after hours in my tent while I was away at training. I was pretty bummed out and a little low a lot of the time so as usual I put that towards writing mushy smut because what else is a fangirl to do?
> 
> The title is taken from the songs by Bastille, which I'm completely in love with right now.

Sam was still awake. It was some ungodly hour of the morning and the sky was dark; the world outside their motel room was quiet. Inside their motel room was quiet too, excepting the hums and rattles of the practically antique A/C unit, which was balanced precariously in the window. The only sound that mattered to Sam was the even, steady in-an-out of his brother’s breathing. Unable to sleep, he lay there and savoured the rhythm of it, every inhale bringing Dean’s back in a little more snuggly against his chest.

They had briefly been separated during their last hunt. The vampire nest had turned out to be slightly larger than they anticipated and so any element of surprise they thought they had dissipated rapidly. After all the years they’d been at this and all that they’d been through - quite literally Hell and back - Sam still couldn’t help the way his chest would tighten and brother’s name would rip from his lips whenever he turned a corner to see Dean tied up, bloody, and surrounded by fangs. It had wrapped up pretty messy but they’d managed. Sam was covered in blood - not his own - by the time Dean was free and all the vamps had been properly hacked up. Dean had sprung to feet and carried on though he, too, was covered in blood - entirely his own - and he only started to sway a little when the last head had rolled. Their blades, still dripping, had been haphazardly tucked away and Sam had taken his place at his brother’s side, under his arm, to get him quickly to the Impala.

Dean had spent the drive groggily applying pressure to the worst of his wounds - a gash on the side of his head - while Sam spent it with his foot to the floor to get them back to their hotel across town as fast as humanly possible. If one of Sam’s favourite places to be was riding shotgun next to his brother on a sunny day and a road to anywhere pretending to be annoyed by the choice of music - always the little brother - then sitting behind the wheel with Dean bleeding out next to him was among his least favourite. The adrenaline in his veins and the hard slamming of his heart only started to subside when Dean was sitting on the closed toilet of their motel bathroom with his head in his hands, looking up at Sam as he came in with their med kit to properly patch him up.

Dean had given in to more than a few of Sam’s almost desperate kisses while he tended to him with minimal eye rolling or the usual jabs about Sam being ‘such a girl.’ While under normal circumstances he might be prone to rib Sam about it, he understood and respected his brother’s need for that closeness when things went less than smoothly; Dean would be lying if he tried to claim he was any different when the situation was reversed.

As he lay awake, Sam thought of all the blood he had cleaned away from Dean’s head earlier and sighed, hugging his brother to him more closely. He slid his hand up Dean’s chest to place open over his heart. He nudged his nose into the space behind Dean’s ear and breathed in deeply all the comforting smells that made up his brother - his usual deodorant, their cheap shampoo, the mineral scent of sweat that lingered on his skin from when they’d fucked earlier - letting them seep into his bones and ease him a little. He started to wonder if he would ever relax enough to find sleep tonight when Dean shifted under his hand, taking a deep breath and then rolling back against him.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice was low and rough as he came to. For a brief moment, Sam contemplated pretending to be asleep but he knew better. Dean would certainly be attuned to the fact that he was awake. So instead, he tilted forward to plant a kiss at the corner of his brother’s mouth.

“Yeah, Dean?” Sam answered lazily, letting his lips loiter before sinking back down into his pillow. Dean groaned a little and leaned into Sam, forcing him onto his back. Dean shifted beside him, untangling their legs and turning so that he was propped up on his elbow and looking down at his little brother in the dark. Sam could still make out the piercing green of his brother’s eyes despite the low light as Dean searched his face. He could read all the thoughts as they crossed his brother’s mind: _dammit, Sam; why aren’t you sleeping?; I’m fine, quit worrying._ He didn’t say any of those things aloud but he didn’t need to. Sam looked back up at him in earnest, wordlessly holding his ground. After a moment Dean sighed, resigned, and rolled his eyes dramatically as he moved to lie back down.

 _All right_ , the sigh said. _You win_.

Sam was momentarily pleasantly surprised at his brother’s lack of resistance. He only started to frown and wonder if he should be worried for a second before he realized his brother’s shifting was not returning him to his side. Dean was inching his way down Sam’s body, his one hand supporting him where it caused the mattress to dip and the other skimming feather-light on Sam’s skin, pressing gently into the valleys of his muscles until they found the prominent edge of his younger brother’s hip bone. He squeezed it lightly in his palm and it drew a sharp inhale from Sam.

“Dean,” he breathed out, his voice quiet but still carrying all the concern that Dean should be resting, despite the fact that this one touch from his brother already had heat rushing to fill him up. One of Sam’s hands managed to find its way from the bed to tangle in the short hair at the back of Dean’s head.

“Sam,” Dean replied with one raised eyebrow and a sly smile, halfway between a playful question and gentle warning to leave him be. He leaned down to press his lips to Sam’s other hip, the tip of his tongue teasing along the ridge of it. Sam’s hand in his hair tightened its grip as Dean opened his mouth to suck at the skin and leave a mark; it always thrilled Dean how his brother pushed into him like he was then, as desperate to be marked as Dean was to mark him. He chased his brother’s moan with his own.

Satisfied with the tight, tender feeling of the bruise blossoming under his brother’s mouth, Sam tugged at the hair he was gripping and smiled at the sight of Dean hovering between his legs, his head easing back and his eyes closing with the pleasure of it, and a small, perfect sound escaping his perfect lips. Sam was suddenly overwhelmed with want for that spit-slick mouth on his but his brother had different plans. Before Sam could manhandle him back up the bed, Dean had sunk down and his lips were open around the head of Sam’s cock, his tongue teasing and lapping at the familiar taste there. Sam couldn’t hold in the moan that followed; his entire world began and ended with his brother’s touch. He was as intoxicated by his brother’s mouth on him now as he was very first time Dean had ever dared to take him that way - seemingly a lifetime ago - back when Sam was still lanky and coltish, all long-limbed and baby faced and practically drowning in a love for his brother he didn’t quite understand but knew he could never escape. That had never changed; somehow, incredibly, it had remained the one blessed constant despite everything: the years, the monsters, the demon blood, and all their collected failures. Dean was Sam’s true North; his fierce affection for his brother was his compass. Quite literally it had - more than once - been all that stood between the Winchesters - indeed, sometimes the very fate of the world - and utter disaster. Every horror they ever faced melted away as Dean took in the length of him, giving him a rest and peace of mind he could find nowhere else. The wet, scorching heat of his mouth disrupted Sam’s ability even to breathe and left him panting erratically. Dean smiled around his mouthful at the sound of it, glancing up through his lashes to see the bliss on his brother’s beautiful face. He found a slow, steady rhythm that he knew would drive Sam wild, earning him the sounds that he knew would bring him right to the edge of his own orgasm as he worshipped his brother’s cock.

Sam’s hand moved frantically through Dean’s hair as his breath kept catching. His other hand found his brother’s shoulder and he dug his nails in roughly, making crescent shaped marks and sending shivers through Dean that he felt like an echo starting low in his gut. Dean arched back into brother’s hands to encourage the rough handling as he kept moving on Sam, hollowing his cheeks and working his tongue the way he knew always guaranteed him what he was after. The younger Winchester groaned low and long and fought to steady his hips, something at the back of his mind managing to remember to take it easy - Dean did have a significant head injury -  and it was hardly the time to be fucking his brother’s face with the same kind of recklessness that was so common for them. Hot, electric waves swept down his body in time to Dean’s movements and, shuddering, Sam struggled to keep still.

“De- Dean,” he stuttered out his brother’s name and his nails cut deeper into the skin where they were already buried. Dean almost growled as he pushed back into it. He recognized the notes in his little brother’s voice, knew he was close and the thought of it sent ripples through him, his own dick twitching in anticipation where it hung between his legs, dripping and darkly flushed with blood that burned hot just for Sam. The vibrations from the low, throaty sound were all Sam needed and in the next moment he came, his body seizing tightly as he went through it. He clutched at Dean like he was the only anchor that might keep him from flying right out of his body. His breath punched out of him loudly and it shot straight through his brother, lighting all kinds of sparks along the way. Dean drank down everything Sam gave him, slowing his rhythm as his brother finally started to relax under him, gasping a little for breath. Dean released him carefully and reverently cleaned him with long strokes of his tongue and easy kisses. As was usual, Sam’s extensive vocabulary had been narrowed exclusively to his big brother’s name, and so he uttered it at least a dozen times as he came back into himself and started reaching for Dean’s dick which was still rock hard and untouched between them.

“Yeah, _Sammy_ ,” Dean breathed into the flat of his little brother’s stomach as he started to pull himself back up the bed to give better access. Sam pressed his lips to his brother’s temple as soon as it was close enough and took him firmly in hand. Dean dropped his forehead to Sam’s with a groan when he started to fuck into Sam’s hand as it tightened around him, his thumb teasing at the slit and then down the shaft to slick up the velvet soft skin.

“Sam, fuck-” he managed to get out, just barely, as his mouth searched blindly for his brother’s. When he found it he kissed him absentmindedly, letting Sam nip at his lips and suck at his tongue, and Dean got lost in the familiar feeling of his brother’s perfect hands.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam mumbled against Dean’s swollen lips. “Come for me, big brother.”  
Dean moaned as Sam’s words echoed through his body and Sam swallowed the sound greedily. Dean had never been able to deny Sam anything and just like that he was pushed over the edge. He came quietly - all his air suddenly stolen from him though his mouth tried to form Sam’s name in vain - shuddering against his brother and painting his belly with white ribbons before his arms gave out and he collapsed onto the mess of it, panting into the sweat-slick hollow of Sam’s neck.

Sam sighed contentedly and softened his grip where his hand was now trapped between them. He kissed at the top of Dean’s head, careful of the dressing that was protecting the stitches he’d sewn only so many hours earlier. He breathed deliberately, his chest pushing up against the dead weight of his brother’s body where it melded to his, unable to fight the grin that spread across his face. His brother was finally soft in his palm and with exaggerated effort Dean rolled off of him to settle again at his side. Sam released him as he did so, bringing his hand to his mouth to take in all the flavour that was Dean and always seemed to speak directly to his dick no matter how spent he was. Dean shot him a sideways glance in time to watch as his middle and ring fingers disappeared into his mouth and groaned loudly at the sight.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sam.” Dean watched with renewed alertness and Sam grinned all the more as he wiped up the remaining mess from his stomach and meticulously licked up every last drop.

“Just love how you taste.” As he said it, barely a whisper, he managed - impossibly - to look innocently up at his brother like he used to when he was young and constantly reassuring Dean that he wanted - needed - him this way. It started a fresh spark at the base of Dean’s spine that spread like wildfire. He propped himself up on his elbow and took Sam’s wrist firmly to pull his hand away from his mouth and replace it with his lips. He hungrily searched Sam’s mouth for traces of himself and ignored the little sounds he didn’t mean to make when he found it. Sam laughed a little against Dean’s mouth, loving that he knew exactly how to get that response from his brother. Dean was nothing if not completely predictable - at least, like this, and for Sam. Sam gave back equally, taking everything he wanted from his brother because it was his. He let his hand stroke at the nape of Dean’s neck and slowed them down until Dean finally broke away, panting again and lying back down. He got comfortable against Sam’s side, his hand resting on Sam’s chest and subconsciously traced circles there as he had done once upon a time when they were young.

Sam listened attentively to Dean’s breathing as he succumbed to sleep again. The familiarity of this routine was reassurance and comfort enough to put many of Sam’s immediate concerns to rest. He held his brother to him and felt that calm, that easiness that only Dean could ever give him - the only thing, he thought, that let him cling to whatever was left of his sanity and live this ridiculous life. Despite the monsters and all the evil in the world, Sam could still find fleeting moments of peace - a completely illogical and yet surprisingly pure sense of security - that could only come from Dean. Here, wrapped around his brother who for the time being slept safely in his arms, Sam could finally sleep.

 

 


End file.
